Strings To A Deal
by The Serial Dabbler
Summary: A deal is defined as an agreement between two common parties for mutual gain, but when the deal in question exists beyond the realms of mortality, the strings become vastly more defined. It's contagious chemistry babes…so catch it.


_A/N: 'Just think of it as a marriage of inconvenience. We both get something. I get out, you get to say you're married to the most eligible bachelor since Valentino crossed over, we're even babe.' – Betelgeuse _

Note: This idea would just not give up the ghost…so rather than waste a perfectly good muse I plied myself with caffeine, put fingers to keys and wrote the damn thing! Will probably never materialise any further than this, I seem to be a oneshot kinda girl. Warning: Caffeine severely damages one's attention span; at least in the rather _gratuitous_ amounts I tend to drink it…still moderation is dependent on the individual, right?...And if you're not buying that then everyone needs a vice.

Is primarily inspired by the movie, though I'm sure the cartoon has leaked its way in there somewhere. Also I'm inclined to think that the baseline for this fic has probably been done before, very well I'd imagine…who wouldn't want to see how grown-up Lyds tackles movie-verse Beej? So hopefully I'm not trampling any toes with this, I went pretty much my own way with it.

There is also a brief (_minuet_) reference to E Tizzana's poltergeist classification criteria in here. In the interest of factual accuracy (although I'm not one to let a _silly_ little thing like facts get in the way of spinning a tall tale) E Tizzana was a French policeman amongst the first people to attempt to identify a poltergeist. There are nine criteria in total which vary from: noises and knocking sounds, opening and closing of doors, manipulation of objects reflected in residual heat retention e.g. will feel warm to the touch despite the controlling entity being deceased etc.

Anyhow I should probably shut the hell up and get the ball rolling…kudos if you've made it this far, I'd have skipped ahead by now!

…Shutting up.

A deal is defined as an agreement between two common parties for mutual gain, but when the deal in question exists beyond the realms of mortality, the strings become vastly more defined. It's contagious chemistry babes…so catch it.

Rated T: For _obvious _reasons; contains some _mild _swearing.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that bores any resemblance whatsoever to Betelgeuse, in any way, shape or form. Credit must go, unquestionably, to Tim Burton.

Strings To A Deal. 

She slammed the door behind her, trembling fingers sliding the aging steel bolt across the join. It wouldn't do much good, she knew that…but the notion that the lock could somehow keep him out comforted her more than she cared to admit.

Backing away from the door she kept her gaze on the bolt, expecting the door to shudder at the seams under the ghostly pressure lurking on the other side. He liked to make an entrance, it wouldn't matter that she was his only audience, and she wouldn't be surprised should the door come lose from the frame, in a sudden mesh of straining hinges and crash through her bedroom.

Her room felt unnaturally cool against her skin, the air unforgiving as she tried to catch her breath. Another slow, deliberate step and she came against something solid, something far colder than what had prickled her skin before, and froze.

The form behind her held still, a not completely unpleasant wintry pressure against her back, until she felt an unnecessary heave of breath…and a cool pant ghosted across her ear. She lurched forward; understanding, despite her scattered senses that she needed to put some distance between them.

She briefly considered making a break for the door, but he was faster and her legs felt weak beneath her and she knew how little would be gain from the attempt.

She wasn't afraid of him, not really, the lingering traces of fear stemming from something beyond the poltergeist's sudden re-appearance. He might have frightened her in the beginning, but the more she came to understand of the paranormal, the more she came to realise that he'd been holding back…all those years ago.

If he'd wanted to kill them, he would have done it…he certainly had the power. If he'd wanted to he could have dropped her father in such a way that he wouldn't have staggered back up…but he hadn't…he'd toyed with them. And that was _exactly _what he was doing with her now.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him; burying her panic beneath a calm façade she wished more than anything was real. But she'd be damned if she showed him weakness now.

Silence fell heavily between them, neither attempting an advance or retreat. One through fear of shattering the delicate interlude they'd reached, the other too consumed by bitterness to cut their ties in such a harsh, untimely manner.

He watched her through glowing eyes, half expecting the first words she uttered to be his _name._ And he was ready…ready to deliver the blow should she panic and attempt something so forlornly stupid. She took another breath and he could see her lips trembling despite her weak show of bravado, and he felt a hiss ripple from his throat, as she spoke, his fingers posed.

She stilled almost instantly, eyes, if possible, a little wider than before; and it took him a brief, quiet moment to realise she hadn't spoke his name. Curious, more than anything, at this point, he lowered his hand and made an absent gesture for her to continue.

"I told Barbara a sandworm wouldn't be enough."

Her voice quivered a fraction at the end, and she bit down on her lip to keep from swearing. Her parents had wanted her to forget, finding it surprisingly easy to do themselves, despite the heavy weight of his ring on her finger…though she doubted at times whether it was more a well-roused pretence to help them sleep at night than a genuine reality.

It hadn't been like that for her…so instead she'd imagined this moment; many times over the years that had followed the Maitland's almost _exorcism _and her almost _wedding_, and tried to prepare for what would inevitably come next.

_Revenge._

Calling his name _now _would be foolish, although a part of her knew he was expecting that of her; from the way his eyes trailed even the smallest, most insignificant of her movements. And because he expected it, she knew he'd be ready to stop her should she attempt it. She wouldn't finish the chant before he did; so all she'd succeed in doing was angering him when he didn't appear to be in the most favourable mood to begin with.

Though she supposed bringing up his so called _undeath _wasn't the brightest idea either.

"_Ghost with the most_ babe," his voice was dark, a shadow of something far more sinister than she remembered hidden beneath his molten words. "Sandworm's got nothing on me."

She nodded, more through want of something to do than actual acknowledgement.

"How did you get _out_?"

He sneered, his face contorting in the dim shadow from the streetlamp outside her window, and she saw then what people feared in him…wild green eyes that reflected a battered soul teetering dangerously close to the edge.

"You gonna send me back Lydia?"

Shock flooded her in waves, and Lydia was immensely proud when she managed to keep the tremor from her voice.

"You remembered my name?"

The set of his jaw didn't seem any more pleasant, even as his lips stretched lazily into that once familiar smirk.

"Not many people screw me over Lyds…I don't forget the ones that do."

She probably should apologise for that, Lord knows she'd actually felt _guilty _about what had happened to him. Sure he was arrogant, self-assured and he didn't give a shit about anyone but himself…he was a bastard.

But not even he'd deserved the hand he'd been dealt that day.

"You ain't gonna apologise?"

"There's not much point is there? You won't believe me…and nothing I say is going to change anything."

"Grew up a' bit, did you?" it was fairly evident just how much she'd grown, regardless of the shapeless black sweater she was hiding behind. "But you're right kid, nothing you say can wipe out _four_ years in that shit hole, I was filling papers for fucking _months_."

Suddenly offering up an apology didn't seem quite so appealing.

"Then why did you come back? I would have thought after _four _years in the waiting room you'd be out unliving it up."

"Can't a guy drop by to visit the chick that fed him to a sandworm at the' alter?"

The punch line wasn't as light as he made it sound and she almost shivered at the innocence in the suggestion, when he was anything but.

"As long as he doesn't expect her to believe _that _he can…what do you want Betelge-"

And he was in front of her, thrusting her back against the door, one hand pressed firmly over her mouth, the other gripping her arm almost to the point of pain.

"Easy on the B-word babes, we've played _nice _so far."

That was playing nice? She shuddered under him and a stray thought fluttered to the foremost of her mind that compared to snakes and sickening plummets down stairwells he _was_ playing nice. His eyes burned, searing into hers, with a heat not completely derived from anger…not that it did much to settle her.

One ill thought word and she'd shattered whatever caution had existed between them, and he'd reacted faster than she thought possible, even for him. He was close, _too_ close and the chilling realisation that she'd brought this on herself was made worse by the notion that now she'd have to accept he was _out_. Before, when he'd kept his distance, she could pretend she had the power to send him back…pretend that she still had some semblance of control over the situation.

But things were spiralling away from her faster than she wanted to admit, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep up the pretence. At this angle she could see him a little clearer, his eyes were still darkly shrunken, his skin an opal white tinged lightly by the same green hum, which surprisingly didn't make him look ashen…and she remembered why she'd been so morbidly fascinated with him the first time they'd met.

There was something about the set of his features that made him look almost human, she wasn't entirely sure exactly what it was but it radiated the emotion he kept hidden behind his otherworldly exterior. His stare held more weight than she'd imagined it would and it wasn't until she'd been forced to face those brilliant green did she realise the extent of which it affected her.

And that terrified her as much as it exhilarated her.

"You gonna play nice Lyds?"

He was goading her, drawing her into a game she doubted she could win…but that somehow didn't stop her from wanting to play. His hand fell away, dancing across the line of her neck and down her arm…before he surged forward.

Her head hit the door with more force than she'd expected, darkness flashing briefly across her vision. His lips were on hers, hard and demanding, but tentatively coaxing in their movements and she found herself making a conscious effort to remain taut. His fingers buried themselves in her hair, long, inky strands wrapped around his grasp, as his other hand sort her hip; pushing insistently against the fabric to settle against the curve he knew was underneath.

Heat bloomed low in her stomach and Lydia fought against it almost as fervently as she fought against him. She bit his tongue, _hard_ and somewhere during the resulting scuffle he managed to bite hers and the coppery taste of blood filled her senses. Her hands grasped his lapels, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer, and her indecision told him more than her conscious mind understood at this point.

A sparking chill settled over her and he drew away abruptly, his hands grazing the underwire of her bra. She stood, heavily against the door, breath a ragged pant as warmth instantly returned to her body; clutching at the bolt behind her, sorely tempted to fling the door open and run…if not from him, then from the heat he ignited in her.

She settled for hissing the first biting remark that came to mind.

"You're such a dog."

A positively lecherous look settled on his face, so indecent she would have blushed had she not been so irritated.

"Wanna make me howl?" he drawled.

Lydia scowled.

"They say the most effective way to deal with a randy dog is to have him neutered."

She could have sworn he flinched.

"Your loss," the wink that followed was just down right sleazy. "I'm the _Ghost with the Most _for a reason babe."

There was just no getting through to him over this, was there? She was even entirely sure what point she was trying so adamantly to make anyway.

She shook her head, prising her fingers from the bolt and making her way over to the bed, pointedly ignoring the way he watched her. She sank down onto the mattress, leaving enough space for Betelgeuse to perch on the edge, should he decide to join her. He did, but hovered crossed legged and inch or two above the bed. And she had to turn to face him, pulling her knees up to her chest as she leant back against the headboard.

"What do you want?" she repeated, swatting at the blood on her lip.

"You know what I want."

At her flat look he knew there was no further need to prompt her.

"You want out."

"Bulls-eye babes," he smirked, then as an almost afterthought added. "You still want _in_?"

He raised an eyebrow, fixing her with a look vastly more curious then before, but still not quite enough to mask the dark impatience he'd displayed since he'd popped into existence in her apartment. She fought the urge to swallow against the terse lump that formed in her throat at the thought, which had once been so appealing to her, and held his gaze.

"Not like I used to," she murmured lightly, fingering the edge of her sweater, for lack of something better to do. "Figured I'll end up there at some point anyway...besides spending the rest of eternity pushing papers for Juno is _not_ how I'd want to unlive my afterlife."

"Smart move Lyds," his voice flexed with an intonation she rarely associated with him. _Warmth?_ He sounded…proud. "Though I gotta tell you, I'd show at dear ol' Juney's a lot more if you wound up being her desk jockey."

"Why bother?" she asked, oddly intrigued, though from the look on his face she could tell that was precisely what he'd wanted. "I wouldn't be much use to you dead."

"Wouldn't stop me."

Lydia's gaze _almost _unnerved him…rapidly darkening eyes fixed him with a carefully measured look and he could see by the way her pupils dilated that she was weighing her options, reviewing the situation and the roles they were playing.

Kid had always been sharp.

"I always thought you'd be angry…vengeful spirit seemed right up your street."

He waved away her words with dismissive flick of his hand.

"It is," he agreed carelessly, his voice abnormally staid as he went on. "I ain't going to hurt you kid, I've done a lot of shit in my time but that ain't really my style…too obvious."

For reasons she couldn't even begin to comprehend…she believed him.

"I wouldn't blame you for it, you know? It was my fault things didn-"

"Nah, was those deadbeat spooks that caused me all the trouble…jus' wanted to blame you for something at first I s'pose, but I'm not mad at you Lyds."

The undertone to his voice vibrated darkly and she quirked an eyebrow in response.

"You sound pretty pissed for someone who's not angry."

Betelgeuse sneered.

"The Maitlands fucked up, _bad…_but you didn't really do anything. Dear ol' Babs sent me off to sandworm land, I ain't gonna let _that_ go but you were pretty doe-eyed through the whole thing."

Lydia shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees, as she unconsciously leant towards him.

"Barbara and Adam were just trying to help me; they thought they were doing the right thing."

"We had a deal Lyds."

"I know," she was painfully aware that anything she said now would sound like an excuse…and a weak one at that. "They didn't deserve to be exorcised, Otho couldn't stop it…they were in pain."

"You telling me I deserved what I got?"

"No."

The simple admission held more weight than he would have liked, but the worst part was he believed her. He watched her wilt beneath his gaze and was struck by the sudden, unwelcome urge to say something, hell…_uplifting_.

He grinned widely.

"Yeah well…dragging a sixteen year old girl down the aisle weren't my finest hour."

She smiled lightly, and he revelled in his success, however feeble it may have been.

"I was fifteen."

"Shit."

She trailed the erratic movements of his fingers for a short, quiet moment, watching as he strummed them in a rhythmic pattern on his thigh. She could understand how he terrified people; she could understand how his name had come to bore such frightening connotations and she had yet to see the worst of him.

She was captivated by the differences between him and the Maitlands… Barbara and Adam had made every effort to retain the traits of their humanity, excruciatingly careful to limit the extent in which they relied on their ghostly energies. It was oddly refreshing that Betelgeuse didn't appear to suffer from such an affliction; he didn't have reservations or lingering traces of human compassion. That was partly the reason he horrified mortals and spirits alike, the open disregard he showed for the familiar shroud of humanity.

Humans were frightened of him because he confronted them with their own mortality, and death was an inevitable frailty the living desperately sought to escape. Spirits feared for the shadow of their own soul, when faced with a poltergeist that appeared lacking in all that should come from _life. _

Betelgeuse was dangerous…unpredictable and he embodied everything she'd been warned to avoid; more powerful than most could imagine…and in six hundred years he'd gathered enough juice to exorcise countless spirits without heed for the consequences. He thrived on injustice, striking deals with desperate spirits and not caring how he finished them…or how many souls he dragged into the crossfire…by all rights she should send him back, confine him to the other side and put her faith in Juno to ensure he never again darkened the doorway of the living.

"You know you're not as bad a guy as people think you are."

She'd learnt she wasn't particularly good at doing what she should when she'd agreed to marry him.

"Don't go spreading it around," he grumbled, though she could hear the humour in his voice. "Got a reputation to think of, took me centuries to sully it."

"My heart bleeds." He grinned, maniacal and unrestrained and Lydia watched as blood soaked through his shirt just above his heart; pooling on the monochrome fabric. She shook her head, failing to reign in the quirk of amusement that settled on her lips. "You really are something else Beej."

The blood disappeared amongst the lingering grime on his shirt so quickly that a lesser person would have doubted it had ever been there to begin with.

"Back at ya babes."

Her curtains were thick and held up well against the street light but they did little to drown out the noise. They lapsed into silence, listening to the mundane bustle of the world as it passed by outside her window. It was late, and from the sounds of it the streets were partially empty, save the rough mumble of the odd drunk as they made their way home from the pub. She heard a faint call in the distance, and the piercing over-turn of a steel trash can…followed by a slightly more indignant _meow, _and figured it was probably the slightly worse for wear black tom-cat she'd seen earlier…she'd go back and pick him up tomorrow, from the looks of it the little guy had no where to go. She glanced at Betelgeuse and concluded she had an uncanny knack for picking up strays.

"What happens when you die?"

The words were uttered before she'd truly had chance to register them, but it was too late to pretend she hadn't said them now. She knew better than to ask about how he'd died; she'd come to understand death was an extremely personal affair, and not all spirits managed to make…or more importantly keep their peace with it. Barbara and Adam had never answered her, and she could tell by the unusual flicker of their forms that the circumstances surrounding they're deaths still troubled them.

If she was honest with herself she didn't think she was ready to hear Betelgeuse's story just yet, and one glance at his face told her he wasn't ready to tell it either. His lips quirked at the side and she thought, for a moment, he would brush her off as well.

"What's a breather like you wanna know about death for anyway? You're just a kid."

"When you've grown up with ghosts living in your attic you start to wonder about these things," she answered quietly, wringing her hands in her sweater. Her face contorted into a dark scowl as she added. "And I'm not a kid."

He waved her off easily.

"Not by breather standards, but I got _centuries_ on you babes," he chanced at look at her, as if debating whether or not to tell her the truth or throw her some bone idle half truth; although she supposed where Betelgeuse was concerned a half truth was as good as anything. "There's rules against this sort of thing Lyds."

"And when have you ever cared about rules? You told me you didn't have any."

"They ain't my rules," girl didn't know when to back off, did she? That was probably a good thing; he doubted he'd still be sitting here if he'd been dealing with anyone else. Most people would send him back so fast his head would spin…literally. What the hell…"The living shouldn't know all that much 'bout the dead, but you've read The Handbook so I guess it don't matter…you wanna know what happens when you die? Bureaucracy and a shit load of paperwork."

"Even Juno was more forthcoming than that."

He shouldn't really be surprised she'd met the old broad, probably turned up some time after their disaster of a wedding.

"You're talking to a dead guy Lyds," he pointed out blandly, cracking a knuckle with a raw bone-curdling _snap_ that was too hollow to be human. "It ain't any easier than life kid, don't know what it's like after _this_, but I ain't crossing over anytime soon. Getting in 's easy…It's getting back out that's tricky. Comes to everyone in the end…no point in rushing it, it's not worth the hassle," an odd, somewhat out of place, thoughtfulness settled in the depths of his green eyes and despite her better judgement, she knew he was drawing her in, and she was following him with a lot more willingness that she should. "It feels sorta like frostbite, starts of like this dull itch under your skin, keeps getting worse, then its just…_cold_. You really gotta be dead to understand it babes."

"That's the closest to an explanation anyone's ever given me."

"Like I said..._rules, _you know I hate 'em. Closest thing the living can get to it outside of death is probably me. Same sensation as when I turn on the juice, just not as _permanent_."

An errant thought struck her.

"Betelgeuse," she whispered softly, and when he made no move to stop her it sent a shiver of foreboding down her spine. Her mind flittered back to the chill she'd felt when he'd kissed her, different from the simple coolness of his body and she knew he'd upped the ante. The fact that she'd heated almost instantly afterwards suggested foul play on his part, why hadn't she noticed at the time? "Betelgeuse," he smirked. "Betelgeuse."

_Nothing. _

"What did you do?" she hissed, teeth clenched against the warm fury that tickled the back of her throat.

He shifted lightly above the bed, but looked in no way apologetic. Stupid poltergeist didn't have the decency to look chastised.

"No offence babes but we both know how good your word is…It's not that I don't trust you; jus' a little insurance," he casually inspected the dirt under his fingernails, flicking the odd fleck of grim onto her comforter. "I ain't gonna make the same mistake a second time, so I _juiced_ you a little," strangely enough she still looked furious. "Lighten up Lyds! You can call me, I'll be there…you jus' can't send me back."

She'd been wrong before, he wasn't playing a game…he was setting her up and she'd played into his hands without so much as a second thought. It frustrated her, even more so when she felt the mortifying sting of tears behind her eyes. She stubbornly blinked them back, not wanting to face the hollowness that would invade her mind later if she broke now. Anger seemed easier than facing her own disappointment in herself, and she latched onto it firmly.

"Is _that _why you kissed me? So you could fucking _curse_ me?"

"Juice babes, not curse…completely different things; thought you'd read The Handbook?" Hurt flashed in the depths of her eyes and he couldn't help but wish she'd make up her damn mind…he added grudgingly. "'Sides juicing you was jus' a bonus…smoking hot thing like you, I was looking for an excuse to feel you up. It's been four years babes; I'm looking for some action."

"And you thought I'd be the best port of call? What exactly do you think happened between us Betelgeuse?"

"Why don't you tell me Lyds?" The air suddenly felt thick, pressing down on the base of her neck uncomfortably, threatening to crush her. It was deliberate enough a question to make her falter, and she turned his words over in her mind, once, twice…_thrice _before she realised she didn't have an answer for him. She wondered if he had one for her. "You're still wearing my ring kid."

"You know damn well I couldn't take it off Beej," Lydia replied tersely, twisting the band round her finger, catching what little light filled the room, in a partially memorizing shimmer of colour. "I tried at first, didn't take me long to realise it wasn't coming off and short of hacking away at my finger I couldn't really think of anything else."

He raised an eyebrow at that, his expression smug despite the fact she'd just admitted to trying to remove his ring. It was probably her failure to do so that amused him.

"Didn't like the thought of a hacksaw then babes? Wouldn't have pegged you for being squeamish."

"It wasn't like that," her voice was soft, coaxing and a startling contrast to what it had been just moments before. "The ring never really bothered me, I didn't care when it wouldn't come off," she trailed off, eyes vacant and fixed on something beyond his sight. "But it bothered Barbara and Adam, they both tried to pretend like it didn't but I could tell…I think they went to Juno about it at some point. My parents were the same, Dad wasn't as obvious about it as Delia but I'd catch them glancing at my hand," she buried said hand absently in her sweater at this. "I think a part of them wanted it to bother me like it did them."

"It weren't the ring that bothered 'em kid, it was that one day they knew I'd be back for it," on some level they both knew it wasn't the ring he'd come back for, though the extent to which they were willing to accept it played heavily on them both. "Way I see it Lyds; we still got a deal."

"I know…you came back to get me to marry you."

"Something like that…I jus' want out _for good_…don't really want to have to force you to marry me to do it," at her blatantly pointed look he added. "Anymore…so we should talk terms, work out the' kinks and all that shit."

"You've changed your tune," she said hauntingly. "You actually learn something in the waiting room?"

He laughed.

"Nah…'nough of the ceremony was finished for me to stake a claim on you. Not even the old broad can dispute that. You're my ticket outta there Lyds, I ain't going anywhere."

His words lacked the usual bite Lydia expected of him, and took on an edge of warm humour. There was a time when she would have believed he thought of her as an easy meal-ticket, he'd been so desperate to find an _out_ he'd been willing to drag her down aisle before her sixteenth birthday.

She wasn't implying he'd changed, even after four years her memories of him were surprisingly clear, and he was as constant now as he had been then. He wasn't the type to change, and to be honest she didn't want to change him…when he wasn't on the war-path he wasn't all that bad company.

Little comments she probably shouldn't have picked up on as much as she had played on her mind and she found she had trouble accepting he saw her only as a means to an end now. She found herself wondering, for the second time, if he'd be able to answer the loaded question he'd put to her.

"So I'm stuck with you?" she asked, smiling despite herself as he drifted away from her bed with distinctive flourish that looked far too natural on him. "What is this?"

"Call it a long engagement babe."

Lydia considered this, playing his words out a few times in her head before shaking them away. A long engagement suggested there would one day be a wedding, though she found she couldn't summon up the strength necessary to care. She'd deal with that when the time came, there was no point in burning bridges now…and if he was _mostly_ out due to a shoddy, half-completed ceremony anyway, what difference did it really make? She almost laughed…the Maitlands would be _mortified_.

"Tell you what Beej; you take me out to dinner," she briefed a look at his face and warned. "Somewhere _nice, _half the pubs round here are filthy and I need more than a liquid lunch," she heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like _breathers_…"and maybe we can work something out."

He turned on her sharply; face amused and painted with an almost demented grin.

"Get your coat babes," he snapped his fingers and her jacket appeared, in the air beside her. "I know _just _the place."

_If I could have a minute please__  
><em>Then I'll bring you to your knees<em>  
><em>This contagious chemistry is killing me<em>  
><em>Oh you'll never disappear<em>  
><em>Until I give permission dear<em>  
><em>Cause you're always gonna, always be knee deep, so please<em>_

_This love is dirtier than you think__  
><em>Don't believe your eyes, believe your ears, trust me<em>  
><em>This won't sink lower than you think<em>  
><em>Don't believe your eyes, believe your ears, trust me<em>  
><em>It's contagious so catch it<em>_

Lyrics courtesy of You Me At Six

A/N: Review?...Oh…and on a slightly more grateful note I would like to thank all those who reviewed my previous fic, your comments were very much appreciated it.


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